


Real is a Subjective Concept

by hilarychuff



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drinking, F/M, Mentions of Suicide, The Mediator Series, by Meg Cabot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-17
Updated: 2017-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-23 08:00:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 19,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3760711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hilarychuff/pseuds/hilarychuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>H.W. University sophomore Lily Evans can see ghosts—and James Potter won't stop haunting her. Mediator Series AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

After she hears about James Potter’s car crash that summer, Lily expects to see him around campus when her sophomore year starts in August. And it’s not a surprise that when she first spots him, he’s with Sirius Black. What is a surprise is that James isn’t just hanging around him. From what she can tell, the two are full-on hanging out. Which, normally, would make sense, except James’s car crash? It was fatal. So if Sirius is laughing at something hilarious James is saying, like it certainly seems like he is – well, then Lily isn’t the only student at H.W. University who can see ghosts.


	2. Chapter One

She spots them together a couple more times before she gets the chance to talk to either of them. Whether it’s bad luck or an omen or pure chance, every time she sees them, they disappear before she’s fought her way to them through the crowd, or walked off while some classmate grabs her to chat her ear off. Once it felt like she’d only just blinked and then the both of them were gone – and while that makes sense for James, dematerializing and all, it still doesn’t explain Sirius’s quick get away. Either way, it only makes her determined to talk to them, together or one-on-one. So even though it’s not ideal when she spots James on his own in the library, what with no private room nearby to chat in and plenty of students around to overhear, she grabs her chance. 

She watches him carefully for a moment, to try to get a read on his energy, until it’s clear that all he’s doing is lurking behind some confused, alarmed looking student, typing bizarre messages on the kid’s laptop and moving the mouse around the screen as if the thing is possessed (in a way, technically, it is – just by him), smirking all the while. So not exactly dangerous, then. Just a little poltergeist-y, maybe. Good. 

Though she’d come to get an early start on her micro work (a retake after last year’s abysmal performance, but it wasn’t her fault she’d been kept busy mediating ghosts – she had, up until recently, thought she was the only one around to do it, after all. And, anyway, it’s not like microeconomics really make senses to anyone, right?), she quickly abandons her search for an empty kiosk and walks purposefully down the row of desks he’s standing behind, casually hooking an arm through one of his when she reaches him and dragging him along to the other side of the nearest bookshelf. 

It’s only once she’s got him with his back to the shelves and her finger pointed into his chest that she even really gets a good look at him. She’s seen him before, sure, at parties on campus last year when he was alive and from a distance these past couple of weeks with Sirius, but never this close, and it almost throws her off realizing how handsome he is. His hair is dark and messy, like someone’s just ruffled it, and behind his glasses his eyes are hazel and bright. And despite the soft glow he’s emitting, she can just spot some freckles across the bridge of his nose. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that his chest feels pretty solid where she’s poking it. 

It takes him gaping at her to remind her what’s she’s doing, and she fixes her face into one of her tougher looks as she steps close, lowering her voice to hiss, “Hey! What is your deal?” as quietly as she can. 

He’s still gaping, his eyes wide and mouth slack until he gathers enough words together to ask, “You can see me?” His hands find their way to her shoulders, as if checking if she’s solid, as real as he is (except, of course, he isn’t solid or real for anyone else), his fingers trailing down her arms to catch her elbows. “I thought only Sirius…”

She cuts him off quickly, knocking his hands away and ignoring the weird goosebumps raising on her arms. “Yeah, about Sirius by the way – what exactly is his problem? If he’s like me, and you guys have been together for weeks now, why are you still here?”

He shrugs, lifting a shoulder and tucking his hands into his pockets. “Dunno. Where else would I be?”

The fact that he doesn’t even know sets something off in her, and she scowls. By all assumptions, Sirius is as much of a mediator as she is (and older, too, as a senior), which means his whole job (like hers) is to help ghosts move on from this plane to the next, to figure out what’s keeping them here and help them solve whatever lingering problems they have. That James doesn’t even know that there’s anywhere else to be – well, clearly Sirius has been doing a shit job of mediating. 

“On the other side. Or in your next life, or heaven or hell, or wherever it is people are supposed to go after they die. The point is that you’re not supposed to be here, just hanging around–” She drops her tone abruptly as someone walks past and shushes her, and then gives her a weird look as they discover she’s alone by all appearances, and presumably talking to herself. She sneers at them, too, until they pass, and then takes a small step closer to James to lower her voice even further. “The fact that you’re still here means you’ve got some unfinished business, so cough it up and let’s get it over with so you can go.”

His confused frown has been deepening the whole time she’s speaking, though, and by the time she’s done there’s something almost dark about his expression. “Look, I don’t know who you are, or what your problem is,” he says, taking a step closer (and she falls back a matching step, only then realizing that he’s well over 6’, making him nearly a full foot taller than her), “but what you’re talking about? It’s not gonna happen. I don’t why I’m still here, but I’m not going anywhere. Got it?”

She’s just gearing herself up to snap back, bristling to her full (not quite as impressive) height and poking her finger at him again when he dematerializes, leaving her stumbling through the place where he was standing and catching herself on the shelf behind him instead. So much for mediating.


	3. Chapter Two

Lily spends the next couple days researching everything she can about him and his accident. Where it happened, how he lost control and careened off the road, how his body had been washed out to sea and his family had buried an empty casket, the memorial services the school had hosted after, the profile the school paper ran on him the year before. It’s sort of annoying how well-liked and involved he was, and she learns plenty about the scholarship his family has set up at the school in his name and the red convertible he drove and the legendary parties he was known for throwing with Sirius and his other friends, but none of it really sheds light on what exactly is holding him back. 

It probably figures that if he doesn’t know, she wouldn’t be able to figure it out through a few Google searches, but it’s always worth a shot. Still, in James’s case… something feels funny. But he’s not exactly a public figure, so as far as hoping goes that there might be some online theories about what specifically lead to the crash, it’s probably a stretch. What she does find out, though, is that one of his best friends was Remus Lupin. And as it just so happens, Remus Lupin is her RA. 

She doesn’t really have anything planned when she makes up her mind to talk to him, sort of figuring that it’ll come to her on the walk back to her dorm and to his room, but by the time she’s lingering outside of his room, working up the nerve to knock, she still doesn’t know what she’s going to say. It doesn’t matter, though, because her fist raises of its own accord to rap against his door. 

It’s nearly a full minute – and another knock – before he answers, the soft shuffling on the other side of the door and a muffled, “Coming,” the only hint that he’s actually home. When he opens the door, he’s yawning, the back of one hand pressed over his mouth and the other arm stretching as it opens the door. “Lily, right?” he asks, still finishing a yawn. It’s only three weeks into the semester, so he’s still learning everyone’s names. “What can I help you with?”

She shifts nervously from foot to foot, trying to come up with something casual to say to start the conversation, but all that blurts out is, “Can I talk to you about James Potter?”

He looks shocked to say the least, staring at her as if she’s just said something foul, and though she doesn’t think he’s the type of guy to slam the door in her face she starts edging forward before he gets the chance. 

“Sorry, I mean – Can I come in? I really need to talk to you.”

Still he doesn’t say anything, but this time at least he falls back a step and she takes it as an invitation to duck into the room, squeezing by him through the doorway. His dorm is large, larger than her bedroom in the double she shares with her roommate, and stocked with a full bed, desk, small table and two chairs, even a couch facing an old box TV. It’s all a bit run-down, though, the sofa worn in spots and with a patch or two holding the stuffing in place. 

“Can I sit?” she asks nervously, and when he nods silently she arranges herself on one end of the couch, smoothing her skirt out over her knees to buy some time. Remus eases himself onto the other end, lowering himself down like his body is tired, and that’s when he shows up. 

“Stalking me?” he asks as he materializes behind Remus, smirking again with one eyebrow up, and if she’d come up with anything to say it’s gone now, the breath leaving her lungs in one big whoosh. 

Now she’s the one that’s mute, avoiding looking at either of them and picking imaginary lint away from the folds of her skirt, face pink and hot. 

“Did you know James?” Remus asks, slow and careful, once he’s finally recovered from the bluntness of her first approach. 

“Sort of,” she answers, twisting the fabric in her fingers, and James laughs from behind Remus. “I met him a couple of times at your guys’ parties last year. We were just getting to know each other.”

“Liar,” he accuses at the same time Remus says, “I’m sorry,” as if he’s said it a million times before.

Both feel like a punch to the gut, the guilt of exploiting Remus’s experience with his best friend’s death just so she can get some info burning through her chest, but there’s a point to all of this, a purpose. Something about James’s accident just doesn’t sit well with her and now that she’s on it it’s hard to let go. And as much as helping James move on started as a way to get rid of him, it really is what’s best. She charges on even as she feels him watching her over Remus’s shoulder. 

“No, I’m sorry. You knew him way better. I just – I don’t know, I keep thinking about it – about the accident – and reading all the articles over again and – I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right.”

She’s wringing her hands when she finally lifts her chin to look at him full on instead of just peeking through her eyelashes, and both of them are looking at her, James frowning and Remus confused. 

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know,” she keeps hedging, shrugging under the heavy weight of both of their gazes. “I mean – like, something about it is off.”

Remus is watching her carefully now, eyes just slightly narrowed, and she squirms in her seat before pushing herself off the couch. 

“Sorry, this was a mistake,” she spits before she can stop herself, moving towards the hall even as Remus stays where he is. “I don’t know. I’ll see you around, okay? Sorry.”

Remus is still on the couch even as she closes the door between them, and only once she’s halfway down the hall does she remember to breathe. And then to jump immediately as James appears beside her, keeping pace. 

“What do you mean something off?” he asks casually, hands in his pockets and his long strides easily keeping up with hers even as she increases her walk to a clip. 

“I don’t know,” she says stubbornly, keeping her eyes focused down the hall ahead of her and pointedly not looking at him. 

“What, like it wasn’t an accident?” he scoffs, sarcastic and scornful, but there’s something underneath it that makes her stop to look at him. 

“Maybe. They never found your body, right? If you can’t figure out what’s holding you here, it makes sense that it might have to do with how you died. But like I said, I don’t know.”

He rolls his eyes, exaggerated and unbelieving, as she starts walking again. “Please, as if anyone would want to kill me,” he laughs, just slightly too loud – although, of course, the only person who can hear him is her. 

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbles, “former fraternity president, supposed to be chairman of the IFC, past member of the student government, basically the winner of every popularity contest on this campus, I get it. I’m just saying it’s worth thinking about, okay? And, anyway, unless you’ve come up with some other idea for what your problem is, it’s the only lead I have.”

“Don’t you have some other ghosts to worry about?”

They’re at the end of the hall now, just outside the door to her room, and she leans against it, weighing the likelihood that he’ll keep following if she goes inside. Carefully, she opens the door behind her, just wide enough to slip in (and though it’s not like the door would stop him, maybe he’ll at least get the hint). “Actually?” she asks, hovering in the doorway. “I do.” And then she closes the door in his face.


	4. Chapter Three

Things are quiet for the next few days, but that suits Lily just fine. After all, she hadn’t been lying when she said she had another ghost to worry about. Technically, she’s had another ghost for a while, but between her first Advanced French essay, her Intro to Art History quiz, and hunting down James, things have sort of fallen by the wayside. Plus, no matter how many times she’s showed up to her lit professor’s office hours and tried to throw meaningful glances at the glowing teenage girl lurking sullenly in the corner of the room, she hasn’t been able to make contact.

It doesn’t help that Professor Mackey hasn’t left her alone in his office to snag a sec with the girl, or that, okay, maybe she gets a little distracted around Professor Mackey. But it’s not her fault that he’s sort of gorgeous and brilliant to boot, plus his feedback on her response papers about the Victorian Era poetry they’ve been reading has been very complimentary (a unique understanding and unprecedented but promising interpretation, he’d said, and she’d been so delighted she’d blushed pink for what felt like days). Still, she knows at some point she’ll need to find a way to grab the ghost’s attention – and exaggerated and pointed coughing fits just aren’t cutting it. 

In the mean time, though, there’s Google. She’s not sure what she expects to find when she types Professor Mackey’s full name into the search engine (“Tristan Alexander Mackey,” she’d found in the school newspaper’s new faculty member profile, which had yielded exactly zero helpful information – although it was interesting to find out his signature cocktail: a gimlet, up), maybe something about a younger sister who’d died in an accident, or even a daughter if he’d had a kid young (like super young, because there’s no way he’s over 35). 

What she doesn’t expect is James suddenly appearing next to her while she lounges on her bed, laptop balanced on her knees as she leans against a pillow. This time, though, she barely even reacts, looking over at him and rolling her eyes as he makes himself comfortable on her desk chair.

“That your new target?” He kicks his feet up as he asks, resting them on top of her micro textbook on her desk and nodding toward her computer in reference. It takes more will power than she wants to admit to stop herself from snapping at him. 

“Not exactly,” she says through gritted teeth, twisting on the bed to make her computer screen more difficult to see. “Though it’s not like it’s any of your business.”

“Aw, come on, Red, you know all about my high school graduation speech–” (and how does he know she knows that, by the way, if she’s the one that’s the “stalker”? He better not be in her room on her computer when she’s in Sculpture I or eating breakfast in the dining hall or something) “–and my freshman year student government campaign promises. I can’t even know what you’re up to?”

“My name’s not Red,” she barks out before she can bite her tongue, looking up to glare at him. 

“Yeah, I know. Lily, right? I heard Remus say it. Anyway, I think Red suits you better,” he continues, shrugging, seemingly unaffected by what she has heard described as her withering stare. 

“Yeah, super observant, red hair and all that–” she starts, meaning to call him out on his complete lack of originality, but he stops her in his track with, “Actually, it’s more for the color your face gets when you’re annoyed.”

And that has her face darkening as hot as ever, traitorously proving his point. He grins, looking over to catch her flush in the act, and winks. If he weren’t already dead, she’d be tempted to murder him herself. 

“So this Mackey guy,” he continues, as if he isn’t a complete prick. “He another ghost you’re trying to force into the great beyond?”

“He’s not a ghost, he has a ghost,” she corrects, snapping the computer shut to stop him from spying and taking a deep breath to calm the annoyance still bubbling up her throat. “Again, not that it’s any of your business.”

“A haunting, huh? Cool. What is it, like some vengeful spirit? A scorned ex-lover eager to drag him into the after-life with her?”

He waggles his eyebrows as he talks, his face animated, and if he were someone else she might laugh but since it’s him, she scowls instead.

“Gross, no, she’s like fifteen. And anyway, I’m not exactly sure who she is yet. Hence the Googling.”

“What, you can’t just talk to her? Grab her and throw her into a bookshelf or something? That’s standard procedure for you, right?”

She frowns at his tone, casual but just the tiniest bit biting, and then shrugs a little guiltily. “You’re different than she is. She’s not constantly hanging around another mediator who should’ve already explained everything to her.” When she looks back up from her hands, he’s still sitting there, looking at her expectantly, and she squirms. “Fine, I’m sorry,” she adds in a huff, just a little reluctantly, and he nods as she goes back to picking at her nails. 

“Anyway, I haven’t been able to get her attention,” Lily continues. “She’s always just… sulking behind him, not even looking at anyone. If I can find her name, though, it’ll be easier. Then she’ll know I’m actually talking to her and not just to myself.”

“And then what? You give her the same shpiel you gave me, tell her there’s something wrong with her and then try to send her to hell?”

That has her scoffing, rolling her eyes and shifting her computer from her lap to the foot of her bed, sitting up straight. “Look, not everyone’s like you. Just because you love being dead or whatever–”

He stands up so abruptly then that she startles, scrambling back to where her headboard meets the corner of the room as he takes a step closer in the already small space.

“You think I love being dead? You think I wouldn’t rather be alive every second of every day that I’m still here?” His voice is low and his eyes suddenly dark, his hands curling into fists by his sides, and though the window behind him is closed, the curtains are twisting and billowing as if there’s a hurricane. “Because it’s such a fucking kick being stuck with you for any social contact, it’s so fucking great that two of my best friends can’t see me or speak to me anymore, that practically no one even knows I’m here? If it’s this or nothing, though,” and his expression practically dares her to try and promise something else, especially after she’s already professed to not really knowing, and now her water glass on her desk is shaking, chattering against the wood and threatening to burst, “I’d take this any day.”

They stare at each other for a long minute after that, James still standing whip-straight at the edge of her bed and Lily folded up against the pillow and her wardrobe vibrating where it touches the wall. 

He stares at her until she finally moves, uncurling and reaching out a hand towards him. “James,” she warbles, unsure what to say next, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone, anyway, and everything is still.


	5. Chapter Four

She means to find him – to apologize, and maybe say something else though what she’s not sure – but every time she sees him he’s off in the distance with Sirius and, judging by the looks Sirius shoots her way (though James steadfastly pretends not to notice her), she’s not exactly welcome to approach. She tries once anyway, hiding herself in a crowd until she gets closer, but Sirius picks her out and the two are gone before she can take another step it seems. And she’d put money on the fact that Sirius has talked to Remus, too, who avoids looking at her now when they pass each walking to class or in the dining hall – Remus, who’d always waved back even after the awkward encounter in his room where she’d asked about James’s car crash. 

But it’s fine. It’s all fine. She throws herself into the mystery of Professor Mackey’s ghost instead, exploring every avenue she can think of, Googling his name again and then his name and the state and then his name and position and a thousand other combinations of him and something that could be a clue that turns up nothing about the death of a teenage girl. She’s almost ready to give up for the day, turning back to the original article in the school newspaper just to make sure for the thousandth time that there’s nothing helpful, when one of the names in the masthead catches her eye: Alice Logan. 

They’d taken Sculpture I together Lily’s first semester the year before, chatting and laughing as they’d made clay pottery vases on the wheels, grabbing coffee after and cleaning the earthy red stains from their hands. A junior at the time (and now a senior like Sirius and Remus, like James would’ve been), she’d been able to give Lily some advice on their shared journalism major and had even encouraged her to try out for the newsletter staff when applications opened in December. 

They hadn’t talked much since Lily had blown off her interview (Alice had been furious when she’d finally seen Lily at their end-of-semester exhibition, first giving her the cold shoulder and then reaming her out for being such a flake – apparently freshmen never got interviews, and the only reason Lily had was because Alice had stuck her neck out just for Lily to screw it all up), but without being able to explain that she’d gotten busy fighting the ghost of a burglar who’d gotten caught (and killed) breaking into a house a few blocks off campus, Lily hadn’t given Alice much reason to forgive her. But then, it was better to be seen as a flake than a freak. 

Still, months later and a semester past, things have to have cooled (probably). Alice can’t still be mad at her, no matter how bad an excuse “Shit, I’m sorry, I took a nap and must’ve slept through it,” is – right? 

So she swallows whatever little pride she’s got left, swings by the campus coffee shop to grab a chai latte and an iced coffee, black, and shows up to the newsletter offices where Alice and her co-Editor-in-Chief (and boyfriend) Frank Longbottom are working on the next week’s issue. (And normally she’d just text, but after an unfortunate run-in over the summer that involved her phone being tossed off a building, she’d lost all her contacts. But at least this way Alice couldn’t ignore her messages, anyway.) 

“Hey,” Lily starts nervously, holding out the coffee when Alice finally looks up from her computer screen. “I got you something.”

Alice stares at her until she flushes, hand holding the coffee still extended out towards the other girl, and she’s just about to retract her arm and come up with another plan when Alice finally takes the cup, sighing. Which is a step, and more than Lily could’ve expected (though less than she’d hoped for). 

“How are you?” she continues, plastering on some sort of friendly smile, but Alice doesn’t look back up until she’s had two long slurps of her drink. When she does, she’s not smiling, only looks a little tired (and Lily knows she should’ve gotten an extra shot of espresso, but without being sure that Alice would even accept the gesture she didn’t want to overdo it) and then asks, “What do you want, Lily?”

But it’s an opening and Lily will take it, digging through her messenger bag for the copy of the issue with the new faculty member bios in it, spreading it out for Alice to see. “You did all the interviews, right?”

One of Alice’s eyebrows shoots up curiously, but she just takes another look at the paper and another sip of her drink. “Mary did them,” she says finally, and Lily almost sighs in relief, because Mary, the girl Alice is looking at over in the corner, doesn’t hate Lily. At least not yet. 

Alice had always helped out Lily with strange requests last year, looking things up in the special databases she had access to as a member of the paper without asking too many questions (and Lily’s not sure if Alice thought she was some sort of amateur detective or if she just didn’t give a shit), but with the way things are between them now it’s hard to imagine her being too helpful. Mary, though – she’s also a sophomore, new to the paper this year and a friendly face in Lily’s French class, plus probably a thousand times more likely to actually talk to Lily about the article. 

Which is how, after thanking Alice and getting only a shrug in response, she finds herself holding out the chai latte and being grateful that, though she’d meant it for herself, she hadn’t taken a sip yet. 

“Hey, Mary, need a boost?” she asks, smiling, and Mary grins in response when she looks up from her laptop, carefully taking the hot cup out of Lily’s hands. 

“Thanks, Lil, that’s so nice of you,” she coos, and Lily represses a wince as she remembers Mary’s penchant for using nicknames. “What’s up?” she asks, pulling out the chair across from her so Lily can sit. 

“I was hoping I could talk to you about your interview with Professor Mackey from a few weeks ago?”

Mary raises her eyebrows at that, smirking, because it’s a well-accepted fact around campus that Mackey, one of the new young professors on campus, is something of a babe. “Oh yeah?” she asks teasingly, and suddenly Lily wishes that the lie she’d thought of ahead of time didn’t sound so, well, familiar. 

Still, she’s not good enough on the spot to make up something new (and maybe Mary will be more likely to help if it’s dishy anyway), so she charges on. “Yeah. Um, he and I have been chatting a little lately – you know, because he just moved here and all – about being homesick. And I get it because here’s far away from home for me, too, so I thought I’d get him something from his town – like a local cookie or something, but he only mentioned that he’s from Ohio, not which part. So I was sort of hoping that you talked to him about where he worked before?”

Mary is full on grinning now, and Lily can’t help but blush a little at the implication, though the idea of getting in cozy with Mackey isn’t exactly an unpleasant one. She isn’t, though, is the thing – maybe a little flirty, sure, flirtier than she’d be with most teachers, but ultimately it’s all innocent. Certainly not whatever Mary is thinking. 

But Mary winks and turns back to her computer, pulling up her notes from the interview, and says, “Liberty High School in Cincinnati. And Google says to go with Graeter’s ice cream. Apparently it’s sort of a big deal.”

Liberty High School. She files the information away to look up later, a larger part of her than she’d like to admit making sure she doesn’t forget about the ice cream, either. Just in case. “Thanks, Mary,” she answers sheepishly, standing back up. “I’ll see you tomorrow in French, okay?”

“Sure,” Mary says breezily, beaming and turning back to her computer before one last glance back up. “And Lily? Tell me how it goes.”

How it goes is poorly, though, because as it turns out, James was more spot on than she’d thought possible. Though “Tristan Mackey Liberty High Cincinnati” doesn’t turn up anything of interest, “Liberty High Cincinnati death student” does, and it only takes a quick click-through to the local paper’s article to recognize the ghost in her high school freshman year class picture. The article doesn’t mention Mackey’s name anywhere, but it’s her, Caroline Amanda Jennings, 14, and as she skims the connection becomes clear. Because Caroline Amanda Jennings, as it turns out, didn’t just die – she killed herself, and even more than that, she killed herself after breaking into the home of the man who’d turned her down, the man she’d been stalking. The man who, it just so happened, had been her high school teacher. And Lily has a pretty good idea of who it is.


	6. Chapter Five

Now that she knows who the ghost is, part of Lily wants to get up and find her right away, hunt down Professor Mackey’s home address and lure Caroline outside somehow so they can talk. Still another part of her is sort of wishing she’d never gotten to the bottom of this particular mystery, because what happened to Professor Mackey is awful. Being stalked and harassed and then finding this girl, finding her dying in his home – the thought of it makes her feel sick. It doesn’t help that Lily’s never met a suicidal ghost who’d moved on easily, either. 

Not that she’s met that many ghosts who’ve committed suicide. Okay, it was only two, and really just one of them gave her trouble, the girl wanting only to make sure her sister found the necklace she’d left behind, a delicate chain with an old locket that had gone missing in the aftermath, but the boy – The boy had been stupid, making an impulsive decision in the moment without real regard for the consequences, unwilling to live (or not live) with what he’d done once reality sunk in. He’d been convinced that since it had been his own actions, his own intervention, that he should be able to go back if he’d changed his mind. But it didn’t work that way, and when Lily had tried to explain it the emotions that had overtaken him before resurfaced. 

Only instead of turning it on himself again in some sort of misguided attempt to punish those around him, he’d turned it on his former tormentors, the boys who’d bullied him in school, the boys to whom he’d never stood up before but who couldn’t lay a finger on him now, let alone see him. And it wasn’t right, that they’d driven him to feel like he had nothing left but a belt, nothing left but to lash out at himself and hope for blowback for them, but it wasn’t right either that if he couldn’t come back, he’d take them with him. And when Lily had said so, had thrown herself at one of the boys to knock him out of the path of a bookshelf that had tipped over for seemingly no reason, he’d turned it on her, too. 

So to say that she is nervous that things will be the same with Caroline, Caroline who’d let herself become so caught up in her feelings that she’d followed Professor Mackey, assaulted him, left her body for him to find in one final attack, is a bit of an understatement. She proceeds, but cautiously, waiting to make a move until her next class. Because whoever Caroline was before, she’s been a ghost for nearly six months now, and for the almost-month that Lily’s seen her hanging around, she’s never displayed even a hint of violence or power, only trailing behind Mackey sullen and with her head-down, scuffing her shoes and dragging her heels. If she’s dangerous – and there’s still a chance she might be – she either doesn’t know or doesn’t care to act on it. Either way, it’s better than nothing. 

Lily waits until Mackey wraps up discussion group before she puts her plan into action, lingering at her chair and packing up her journal and notes slowly while most of the other students file out of the room. As usual, Eloise Avery also sticks around, cooing over how much she’s loved the most recent readings as she hugs her laptop to her chest. And usually this annoys Lily, how Eloise simpers and flatters and bats her eyes (probably in no small part because of the way Professor Mackey smiles back, patient and sweet and totally more than Eloise deserves), but today she’s grateful for it, because with Mackey’s attention on Eloise and the noise of the students in the hallway still filtering through the back of the classroom, there’s just enough cover for Lily to hiss, “Caroline,” without being heard.

Without being heard by anyone but Caroline, at least, the ghost sitting on the tabletop and swinging her feet whose head snaps up sharply as soon as someone calls her name. Lily looks at her for several long beats, watches Caroline look back until she realizes that Lily can, in fact, see her. And then Lily inclines her head towards the hallway, raises a shoulder in invitation, ducking under the strap of her messenger bag and heading for the door only once Caroline has hopped off the table to follow. 

“You can see me,” Caroline says once they reach the hallway, her voice young and dreamy. 

It’s a sentence Lily’s heard before what feels like ten thousand times, one she doesn’t even notice, so what strikes her is not the way that that Caroline is looking at her, half-awed and half-excited, but that her slack-jawed expression reveals a mouth full of braces. And now that Caroline is finally standing in front of Lily instead of hugging a knee on top of a table or sitting criss-cross on the floor, it’s clear how young she is. She’s tall, sure, with at least a couple of inches on Lily, but gangly, like she hasn’t quite grown into her limbs. 

“Yeah, I’m a mediator,” Lily answers with a casual smile, trying to keep it friendly and quick as she leads Caroline down the hall to an empty classroom. It’s been days, but what happened with James is still in the forefront of her mind, the weight of his words heavy on her shoulders, and she’s determined not to be as rough with Caroline as she was with him. “So you’re as real to me as anyone else is. I’m the person who helps you figure out why you’re still hanging around so you can move on.”

“Move on?” the younger girl asks, her nose wrinkling in distaste and a lip-glossed lip curling up. “What does that even mean?” This time, though, Lily is better prepared for the question. 

“You know how no one’s been able to see you or hear you since you died? And how you’ve sort of just been hanging out for months now? It’s because you’re not actually supposed to be here. When most people die, they move on to whatever comes after – heaven, maybe, or your next life. I don’t really know, but I like to think it depends on what you believe in. If you stick around after you die, though, it’s because you have unfinished business, which is where I come in. It’s sort of my job to help you figure it out and address it so you can move on.”

“Unfinished business?” Caroline repeats, and Lily is starting to get a little tired of the echo game. She bites her tongue to stay patient. “Like what?”

“It could be anything, really. For some people it’s a last message they want to give to a loved one, or something small they didn’t get a chance to take care of before they went. One older guy who had a heart attack wanted me to make sure his dog got adopted. There was a woman who died from liver failure who wanted me to help get her daughter into a program. That one was a little weird, but I actually sort of knew the girl from school so it wasn’t terrible. The last girl I met who killed herself actually–”

“The last girl who killed herself? Is that what you think I did?” Caroline snaps suddenly, sharp and angry, hair catching on the gloss on her lips, but Lily’s so prepared for a confrontation that she hardly even flinches before continuing. 

“Look, I know it sucks and it was probably a mistake,” Lily starts (even though, honestly, it’s a little hard to accidentally swallow two handfuls of pills and wash it down with half a bottle of cherry vodka), but she doesn’t get much further before Caroline is cutting her off again. 

“It wasn’t a mistake, it was murder!”

This one Lily isn’t expecting, and she jerks back as if Caroline’s voice, high and brittle now, is a physical force. It doesn’t make sense. All the reports, the newspaper articles, the obituary her parents wrote – everything had said suicide, there weren’t even any whispers of foul play –

“What?” 

“He killed me!” she shouts, and Lily takes another step back at the force of her emotions. In the classroom, the desks are rattling against each other, the lights just starting to flicker. “He killed me and no one even knows, everyone thinks I did it! He killed me, he killed me!”

Lily’s hands are up, in either surrender or defense, she’s not sure, but the hanging lights in the room are swaying wildly, the ceiling tiles shaking in their frames, and it’s not long before her hands are over her head instead, just in case something starts to fall. 

“Caroline!” she yells once, twice, a third time, but it’s no use over the girl’s shrieking, Caroline can’t hear her, isn’t even looking at her anymore, and Lily has to throw herself out of the way as one of the light’s support snaps and sends it swinging down toward her. The desks are shifting, sliding across the carpet, and Lily sprints to the side to dodge one speeding towards her, keeps going until she’s at the door, tearing through it and slamming it behind her just in time for a desk to thump loudly against it. She doesn’t stop to catch her breath until she’s down the end of the hallway, turning down another, bursting through the double doors and onto the lawn outside. 

She skips Mackey’s next class, and only works up the nerve to go to the next one five minutes after it’s scheduled to start. She doesn’t know how much longer Caroline was screaming in that classroom, how angry she might still be, but she does know that before their… chat, if you could call it that, Caroline was always there, steadfastly picking at her nails or loudly sighing at the front of the room. She’d never missed a class – or even a minute, it seemed, by Professor Mackey’s side – and the idea that she won’t start now is enough to deter Lily. 

Admittedly, she’s not especially eager to see Mackey either. Normally she can’t wait for his class, for his notes on her papers, his careful debate in seminars, the smile he gives her when she says something he particularly likes, but now… Well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there aren’t many “he”s that Caroline could’ve been talking about. 

But the idea that Mackey could do something like that just doesn’t sit right with what she knows of him. The version she’d read in the papers, that made sense, but this? Murdering a girl in his own apartment and covering it up? It doesn’t just sound wrong, it sounds impossible. Mackey’s smart, brilliant even, but conniving? Still, she can’t get Caroline’s screams out of her head. 

Something stubborn in her out weighs the scared, though. She’s already let it stop her from going to class once, but this – getting to the bottom of Caroline’s death, figuring Mackey out – is her job, and what’s more is it’s the right thing to do. It takes a lot to steel herself to be in that building again, down the same hall and in the same room where she first laid eyes on the teenage ghost, but she’s determined to go, determined at the very least to look into Mackey’s eyes and see if there’s anything there. 

At least until she sees Sirius. He’s not with James like usual, James who she’s tried so hard to put out of her mind these last few days, because even though he never actually said to stay away from him, the sentiment was clear. The guilt is still eating at her, but he’s not there as a reminder, not laughing with Sirius on the other side of the quad like usual. Which means that, like it or not, this is her moment. 

She’s walking toward Sirius before she’s even really decided to, but he’s not looking at her, he’s talking to some pretty girl Lily doesn’t recognize, which means his back is to her and he won’t have the chance to run away. 

“Sorry, excuse me,” she says with the best smile she can work up, catching the girl’s eye over Sirius’s shoulder once she’s in hearing range. “But can I talk to Sirius alone for a second?”

Sirius spins to face her, his gray eyes raking over her face before recognition sets in, but the girl is already looking between them and shrugging, answering, “Sure. I’ll see you around, Black, yeah?” before walking off.

“You,” Sirius says, his voice dark, and it strikes Lily then that she and Sirius haven’t actually met yet. She’s seen him plenty, sure, and had tried to approach him at least five times in the beginning of the year, but since actually talking to James, nothing. He knows her, too, that much is clear if it hadn’t already been when Remus suddenly stopped acknowledging her presence. Any actual interaction between them, though, has just been glares around campus. The realization almost makes her stumble her words, but she forces them out before they get too tangled in her mouth. 

“I need you to tell James that I’m sorry.”

“Fuck off,” he shoots back, too quick to be a proper reaction, and she nearly shrinks in on herself at the venom in his tone. 

“I mean it, you have to tell him," she charges on, babbling, something urgent in her chest. "I know it was so stupid, God, so fucking stupid, but I wasn’t even thinking." 

“Can’t you just back off, find someone else to screw with?” he spits, saying the words that James hasn’t. “It’s none of your business in the first place whether or not he sticks around – or why.”

But that strikes a chord with her, has her straightening her back suddenly and narrowing her eyes.

“It is my business – and it’s your business, too.” That low, needy feeling in her chest is gone, now replaced instead by something starting to burn. “Like it or not, he’s a ghost, which means it’s our jobs to help him move on.”

“Says who?” he counters, and the question nearly throws her off. 

“What?”

“I said, who says it’s our job? Unless you were born with an instruction manual in addition to the ability to see ghosts, how do you actually know it’s what you’re supposed to do?”

In a way she doesn’t, because of course no one had ever explained it to her when she was little, had ever even acknowledged the ghosts that only she could see. And she hadn’t known what to do with them, or about them, or whether she was supposed to really see them at all until Sev had come along in the fourth grade. He’d been able to see them, too, had understood that she was as different as he was, but better still he’d known what they were, both ghosts and mediators. He’d learned from his grandpa, had passed it on to her, and, sure, being a mediator wasn’t always a job she wanted (or even liked), but it was always something Sev had reveled in. They weren’t just different, he’d explained, they were better. They could see and do things other people couldn’t. It was a privilege to deal with the dead, and power to help or make them move on. It wasn’t just a job, it was a calling. 

Still, Lily doesn’t have an answer for him, because Sev had told her and his grandpa had told Sev, but who’d told him? Who’d decided that just because they could see ghosts, they had to help them?

“Fine,” she says finally, finding her voice. “I can’t make you help him if you don’t want to, but I’m not going to stop. There’s a reason he’s still here. Don’t you want to know what it is?”

He rolls his eyes at that, like he knows, like he’s got all the fucking answers and she can feel the anger from before, coiled in her chest, spark. “Honestly, Evans? I don’t really give a fuck why he’s still here – I’m just glad he is. So if you do anything to change that – or even try – you’d better believe I’ll know where to find you.”

By the time he finishes, she’s fallen back a step, eyebrows knit together, because what had started almost flippant sounds suddenly like a threat, and though Sirius’s reputation around campus is more of prankster, party-goer than anything else, the set of his jaw and look in his eyes makes her believe him. Whatever words she has left catch under her tongue and she searches his face as if she’ll find them there instead, but he’s already leaning away, digging through his pockets and pulling out a cigarette and a Bic. 

He looks up once he’s finished lighting the thing, a long inhale and single raised eyebrow almost daring her to stick around, but she knows better. By the time he exhales, she’s already half-way across the lawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer wait on this one. Suicide is obviously a super important, sensitive topic, and I tried to be careful with it, but let me know if something crossed the line. 
> 
> Also, on another note, there've been a few slight changes to Chapter Three, so feel free to check them out if you have the chance.


	7. Chapter Six

As it turns out, skipping seminar twice in a row in a small discussion class doesn’t go quite as unnoticed as it did in Lily’s first year Intro Sociology course, and it’s not long before there’s an email from Mackey sitting in her inbox asking her to come to his office hours. The thing is, though, that despite what seems like a pleasant tone, it doesn’t read as much of a request. 

But it’s time she spoke with him anyway, like she’d worked herself up to do before. She could face Caroline again if she had to. She’d done worse. And this would be a chance to get Mackey one-on-one, look into his eyes like she’d meant to and see if she could figure anything more out. Still, just because she could, just because she would, didn’t mean she was exactly looking forward to it. 

When she finds herself outside his office, her hand hovers just shy of actually touching the door, and it takes a deep shuddering breath to finally work up the nerve to knock. Only, before she gets the chance, she catches a glimpse of something shimmering out of the corner of her eye and spins to her left just in time to catch Caroline materializing next to her. 

Lily still remembers all too well what happened the last time they spoke, the way the ceiling lights rattled and fell, the way the desks went racing around the room, so she keeps her mouth shut, just waits warily for Caroline to speak first. 

“Hi,” the teen says nervously, wringing her hands—and that’s not exactly what Lily expected. “Um, I’m really sorry about last time.”

They don’t usually apologize either, and Lily can’t help taking a step away from Mackey’s door to give herself the space to process. 

“I didn’t mean to—I mean, I didn’t even know I could do that,” Caroline continues. “It’s been months and I thought—I don’t know, that no one would ever be able to hear me or speak to me or see me or ever know I was there.”

Lily sighs. This is more than she’s gotten from most ghosts, and Caroline is young, both as a ghost and otherwise. It’s possible she really didn’t know any better, had let a strong emotion overcome her without knowing what it would lead to. So she watches Caroline fidget a little more and then shrugs. 

“It’s all right,” she says finally, attempting a smile. “I bet it’s awful hanging around when no one knows you’re there.”

“It is,” Caroline gushes quickly. “I shouted a lot at first, but when it still didn’t work after a couple of days I pretty much gave up. I thought I’d just be following him around forever, until I met you.”

“Yep,” Lily says, still a little impatient about where this is going. “Now I can help you move on—“ she starts until Caroline cuts her off. 

“Because I can talk to you,” she says confidently. “And you don’t just walk right through me and stuff. I’m actually there for you—I even made those desks move, right? Was that also just because of you, or can I do that around anyone?”

Caroline is watching her expectantly, and Lily’s got a bad feeling about where this question is going. “Well…”

“It’s around anyone, right?” Caroline interrupts again, a bit more excited than Lily would like. “Because it’s not like you were touching the desks or the light. That was just me, right?”

And Lily’s got that prickly feeling at the back of her neck, like suddenly the skin’s too tight there, but there’s a shadow in front of the frosted glass on Mackey’s door, and Lily only has time to hiss, “Meet me at my dorm later and we’ll talk, ok? Just go,” before the door is swinging open. 

“Miss Evans?” Professor Mackey asks as he leans against the frame, one eyebrow raised. “I thought I heard you out here.”

“Yeah, uh, phone call,” Lily lies, reaching to pull her phone out of her pocket as if that’ll somehow prove she was using it a minute before. Caroline hasn’t gone as instructed, is still standing beside her and she laughs, ignores the sidelong glare Lily shoots her way. 

“Well, if you’re ready, come on in,” he says cheerily enough, stepping aside to let her pass—and she’s all too aware of how Caroline follows her into the room before Mackey shuts the door on the three of them. 

“Thanks,” she says, taking the chair he’s pulled out for her, and Caroline perches on the edge of his desk while he circles around it to his own chair. 

He smiles from across the rich wooden table, and she feels her cheeks heat in response, simultaneously embarrassed and pleased by the attention. After a slightly too long pause, she realizes that he’s waiting for her to start. 

“I’m really sorry about class,” she says, twisting in her seat, trying to ignore the way Caroline is watching her. Mackey nods encouragingly, and after she sneaks a glance at the teenage ghost, she meets his eyes. They’re dark blue, bright, and as it turns out, it’s a little harder to look into them and lie than she’d anticipated. “I wasn’t feeling well on Tuesday, and then yesterday...” She’s not sure what to say, not with both of them watching her, but he frowns, patient, and the truth spills out. “I had a fight with this guy—that’s so embarrassing to admit, but I just felt so… I just wanted to get back in bed.”

He’s looking at her like that again, and his hand slowly reaches across to brush her knuckles, her hands balled into fists at the edge of the desk. She forces them to relax at his touch, and he gives her an encouraging smile. 

“Well,” he says, and lets his fingers stay close. “Your response papers have been quite insightful, so it seems like you’ve stayed up to date on your readings. You might have a little catching up to do for the paper coming up, but my office is always open to you.” 

She nods, sucks in a breath, and puts on a smile—which quickly disappears into a flush when his fingers brush hers again. 

“And Lily.” Her name sounds soft coming from him, the pads of his fingertips warm against her knuckles. “If you ever need to talk—about anything—I’m here.”

She can’t help the way she nervously sucks a breath in, looking up at him, frozen. Or at least she is until the cup on his desk trembles, loose papers fluttering. And then she realizes Caroline is standing, her hands balled at her side, her body tense.

And then before she can say anything (and she doesn’t even know what she would say, not with Professor Mackey in the room, not with his hand still on hers), books start falling off the shelf behind Mackey’s desk, one flying farther forward than it rightfully should. 

Lily’s on her feet in a second, and Mackey follows suit, looking around wildly and ducking forward as another book shoots past his head to skid off his desk and onto the floor. 

“Stop,” Lily breathes under her breath, and then louder, “Stop!” but the books keep shooting off the shelf, faster now, flying farther, and she has reach across the table to grab Mackey’s shirt-front and tug him forward to miss a particularly heavy volume directed straight at his head. 

He hurries around the desk after that one, dodging books and getting glancing hits from others, and he doesn’t know it but he walks right through Caroline, her eyes wide open and her hands screwed into fists and her mouth set, determined, snarling as he passes through her. 

“Stop!” Lily shouts again, but Mackey’s already got her by the arm, giving her what she thinks is supposed to be a comforting shake, and he raises his voice to be heard over her and the clatter, “It’s all right, Lily, it’s just an earthquake!”

He pulls her past Caroline into the doorway to the room, bracing himself against one side and her against him, one arm wrapped around her shoulders and the other gripping the frame behind him.

The books are still shooting off the shelves, but Caroline has moved to the other side of the room to watch them, and it’s his desk that catches Lily’s attention. It’s rocking, items shaking off the top of it and drawers rattling on their tracks—and then it’s moving, slipping back and forth little by little as if its on wheels. 

“It’s okay!” Professor Mackey says again, the hand on her shoulder reaching up to protect her head as pictures and diplomas and framed newspaper clippings begin tearing themselves off the wall, and Lily’s still shouting, looking up at Caroline, but the teenager is looking only at Mackey, only where his hands are on her, and Lily only just has time to gasp, to grab Mackey’s sleeve with one hand and the doorknob with the other and drag him into the hallway when the desk comes shooting at them. It spills halfway through the door before one of the open drawers catches on the frame and brings it to a jerky halt.

Finally, Caroline meets her eyes from across the desk and Lily freezes for a second. The few books left are still vibrating themselves off the shelves and falling to the ground, but they’re no longer shooting, nothing is flying towards them—and then Caroline looks away, and Lily shoves Mackey down the hallway and out of the building before Caroline can change her mind. 

“It’s all right, it’s all right,” he’s still saying when they finally burst through the doors, and she realizes then that she’s gasping. His hands are on her shoulders and she takes a minute to catch her breath, but she’s nodding, and the crease in his brow softens as he watches her. “First one?” he asks, meaning the earthquake, and for the first time she notices the way his voice shakes just a little, the way he laughs nervously. “Mine, too. We don’t have many of those back in Ohio.”

Of course, it wasn’t an earthquake, and if he’d felt one before he’d have known, but she’s not feeling quick to correct him and out herself as a psycho who can see (and speak to) ghosts. He should know that there’s a vengeful spirit after him, that what he’d thought was an earthquake was really just the girl who’d killed herself in his apartment, but the way he’s looking at her, the way his hands are still warm on her shoulders—there’s no way he’d believe her even if she did say it. 

“Are you all right?” he asks, crouching just slightly so he can look into her face straight on, and she nods, feels her cheeks heating up again. 

“I—” she starts, still breathier than she’d like, and she means to tell him that she’s okay, that she’s fine, but with his eyes all soft all she can manage is, “I have to go.”

He frowns, but she’s already stumbling back and out of reach, turning and rushing back into the building the same way she came before he can say anything else. 

Her heart is still beating just slightly too fast by the time she makes it back to her dorm, marching up the stairs and turning past Remus’s suite to go down the hallway and around the corner to her room. It’s only once she makes the turn that she notices them, one boy sitting at the end of the hallway on the floor outside her room, the other standing behind (and shimmering).

They notice her as she notices them, which means it’s too late to turn around and head back out, and so she slowly keeps on toward them as the sitting boy pushes himself to his feet. 

“Lily, right?” he says once she’s close enough, and she recognizes him then, even though she’d guessed who he was as soon as she saw him. After all, there aren’t really that many ghosts on campus, even fewer that she’s talked to, and only three boys that James seems to haunt. 

“Did you ask him to meet you here?” James demands from behind him, his face still closed off and harsh, but she only looks at him for a second before focusing back on Peter. 

“Yeah,” she answers softly instead. “Were you waiting for me?”

Peter fidgets with his hands, but nods. “Sirius warned me about you—that you’d been bothering him and Remus with some stupid theory or whatever about James’s accident.”

“Not this shit again,” James groans, but Lily just nods, chews on a lip before asking, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, he said—Well, it doesn’t matter. Just that I should stay away from you, basically. That you’re crazy. But I guess I’m not sure.”

And Lily can’t help but take an eager step forward, even as James huffs a sigh and turns away. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

“I’m not sure,” he repeats, reaching up to brush his hair nervously out of his face. “I don’t know if you’re crazy or not. But that James’s accident might’ve been more than an accident—I don’t know,” he says one more time, rocking back and forth from heel to toe even as she moves closer toward him, holding her breath. “I think you might be right.”


	8. Chapter Seven

James barks out a laugh. “Jesus,” he spits, and laughs again, the same huff of a breath he’d let out after she’d talked to Remus. “Christ, Pete—like someone killed me? Why the fuck would anyone want to kill me?”

“Why would anyone want to kill him?” Lily echoes, careful to keep her voice soft, gentle enough not to spook Peter, but the word choice does the work another tone might’ve and his face twists for a second as he falls a step away from her in time to James taking another step towards them.

“Kill—I didn’t,” he stutters, “I didn’t say that, just that—I don’t know—that maybe there was more—” He stops, stumbling over his words and then his steps, rocking back another foot and then forward again, and when he doesn’t continue James huffs another sigh before pacing down the hallway. 

“Okay,” Lily says, not daring to reach for him or even move, “okay.” Peter still hasn’t left, though, hasn’t scurried off quite yet, and she nods, attempts something neighboring sympathy as she reaches for her door. “Do you want to come in?”

His mouth pulls to one side, but he doesn’t answer as she opens it, even as she takes another step through and wait to see if he’ll follow. It takes him another few seconds before finally he rests on his heels, shakes his head and shrugs. “That’s okay,” he says, lifts one shoulder tightly. “But if you find out anything, just—will you let me know?”

“Sure,” she says, nods again, smiles, and then he leaves. 

She shuts the door behind her as carefully as she opened it, then takes a second to gather herself before she crosses through the suite’s kitchen to her own tiny room. But as soon as she’s got her jacket off and hanging on her coat hooks, James is striding back through the closed door. 

“Stay away from Peter,” he says, voice low, and she recognizes it too well from the last time he was in her room. 

“I didn’t—” she starts, but he’s talking over her again before she can finish. 

“I mean it,” he insists, voice raising, and for the second time that day she can hear books shuddering on a shelf without anyone touching them. “Leave Peter out of this.”

It’s the shaking that sets her off, the clacking of the drawers in her desk as they tremble on their tracks, and it isn’t long until she’s mirroring the motion, the not-yet long gone feeling of breathlessness settling back in her chest. 

“Stop it,” she hisses, matching his tone, but he only has the gall to look incensed, taking another step forward.

“Me?” He almost laughs, and much as she itches to fall a step back she holds her ground. “You’re the one that’s been— been stalking me! Harassing my friends! Sirius, he gets it at least, but Remus and Peter don’t know your game and I swear if you go after them again—”

“He came to me!” she cuts him off, her voice coming out shrill and sharp as the closet door starts to swing wildly on its hinges. “And I’m serious! Get your temper under control or get out!” 

She knows she’s nearly screaming, can hear the edge of it in warbling through her voice, but she can’t manage to tamp it down even as something closer to shock settles across his face. The closet door flies open one more time to smack against the wall behind it, but even when it stays there the books keep shaking until one vibrates right off the shelf. She jumps as it hits the ground. 

“Go!” she shrieks, and grabs another paperback before it can fall, sending it hurtling towards and then through him, even as he ducks out of the way, to thump at the door at his back. “I’ve had enough!” She hurls a second, reaches for a third. “Go, I swear to god I’ll exorcise all of you, get out!” 

By the time her fingers close around the fourth book he’s gone and she’s sinking to the floor, The Secret of the Old Clock clutched to her chest.

She stays in her room for the rest of the day. It’s Friday afternoon—almost evening—and she doesn’t have any more classes, let alone plans. Another weekend, another year and she might’ve, but two semester’s worth of reputation as a flake means invitations are fewer and farther between. 

She knows, of course, that Mary would welcome her, that others would be happy to have her even if they expected her to disappear on her own halfway through the night, but all she feels like doing is crawling into bed and staying there for a good sixteen hours. She’s got a Netflix queue to watch, after all, plus books she hasn’t quite gotten to yet, and if she pretends not to hear her roommate knocking on her door once 9 p.m. rolls around, well, Marlene’s used to it. 

The thing about Marlene is that she gets Lily, even if she doesn’t know—and won’t, because Lily had learned when she was younger that people didn’t respond well when you see things that they can’t. Then after she’d met Sev and gotten the full run-down on the whole mediator thing, she’d made something of a vow to never talk about it with anyone else. She has a best friend who understands, and, as much as she likes Marlene, Marlene can’t. 

But Marlene is brilliant and kind (if not nice, a distinction she laughs at whenever Lily points it out) and has something of a sixth sense herself for what questions are okay to ask and what she should leave alone. When she catches Lily talking to what seems like no one, or dragging herself into bed all sore and bruised in the middle of a week night, or ditching out on plans she’d had and been excited about for weeks, she accepts whatever flimsy excuse Lily’s ready to offer and moves on. She doesn’t push it or whisper about Lily to her friends later on or ask for anything other than dishes done in a timely manner and no sex in their shared shower, and God is Lily grateful at least once a week that the fates saw fit to randomly pair them as roommates freshman year. 

A year and change in, she gets how Lily operates now, and if she pretends not to be home even though her bedroom light is shining through the crack underneath her door and the laugh track from Friends is audible through the thin walls, well, Marlene’ll just try again in the morning. 

And when Lily finally does quit hermiting, the smell of eggs and bacon drawing her out of her room near eleven the next morning, all Marlene says is, “Hungry? I made too much.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Lily answers, sliding into a seat at their small table—breakfast nook, Marlene insists—as the other girl dishes up two plates and brings them over. “How was your night last night?”

“Fun! A couple kids from my design class were hitting up a local art exhibit, so we pregamed it. Did you get up to anything?”

Lily shrugs, picks at her eggs. “Not really. I sort of got called into Professor Mackey’s office hours yesterday, so I felt kind of shitty afterwards and just stayed in.”

Marlene hums sympathetically. “That sucks,” she adds for good measure, and crunches into a bite of bacon. “Hey, did you feel the earthquake? Some of the girls were talking about it last night, they said it must’ve been like right under his office.”

“Yeah, it, uh, actually was while I was meeting with him,” Lily admits slowly, using the excuse of taking a bite to buy some time. But then she doesn’t really need to—as far as anyone else knows it was an earthquake, and Lily’s hardly about to set the record straight about what really made Mackey’s office rearrange itself. 

“Really?” Marlene asks, looking up—and what might’ve been suspicion from anyone else is only concern from her. “Are you okay? I mean, you didn’t get, like, hit by anything, did you?”

“No, um, Mackey was actually pretty good about it—getting us in the doorway and out of the line of fire and everything like that.”

“Oh yeah?” Marlene teases, smirking. “You guys share a doorway?”

Lily flushes, rolls her eyes, but before she can answer there’s a shimmer across the room and suddenly Caroline is there, biting her cheek and hugging her arms to her chest, and if Marlene assumes it’s a cop-out when Lily says, “Shit, I just remembered I told Sev I’d call him this morning,” well, she can conspire with Mary about it later. 

In the meantime she just nods, and Lily excuses herself with a promise to take care of the dishes later before leading Caroline into her room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for such a long wait! Hopefully the next one won't be half so bad.


	9. Chapter Eight

Caroline’s not nervous the same way she was last time. Instead, she just looks uncomfortable, glancing around the room like she’d rather be anywhere else, but if she’s waiting for Lily to start before she spins into whatever conversation she’s mentally prepared, she’s out of luck. 

“Sorry,” she finally manages, gaze focused somewhere behind Lily rather than meeting her eyes, but Lily isn’t planning on being as quick to forgive the second time around. 

Caroline hadn’t known any better before, hadn’t been aware enough of her powers to know how they work, let alone control or focus them, but after their little chat in the hallway, she’d seemed to grasp exactly what she was doing—and what she was capable of. 

“Are you?” Lily asks when Caroline doesn’t continue, and the younger girl sighs, rolls her eyes and shrugs before finally meeting her gaze. 

“You were flirting with him,” Caroline huffs, tightening her arms across her chest—and, really? It wasn’t exactly a surprise that had been the source of Caroline’s anger but—really? She’d thrown a desk at them because they were flirting? And they weren’t even, for the record. 

“Excuse me?”

“You were flirting! You were all—touching his hand or whatever, staring at each other…”

Caroline trails off and Lily does her best to fight the feeling of warmth rising in her cheeks at the memory of it, of how Mackey had reached across to rest his fingers against her knuckles just for that brief moment, how he’d looked at her. 

“We weren’t,” she insists anyway. “He was just—being nice. I’m not sure if you remember, but I actually had a little bit of a hard week, no thanks to you.” Caroline has the decency to grimace at that, if only for a second. “And honestly, even if we were flirting, it’s not exactly an excuse to try to murder us, okay?”

Caroline’s jaw tightens on that, on the word murder, but she’s only looking away for a moment before her eyes are back on Lily and she tightens her arms over her chest one more time. 

“I told you who he is to me, okay?” the younger girl scoffs, eyes narrowing—and Lily remembers the article just fine about the girl who’d stalked her teacher only to leave her body in his apartment for him to find. 

“Why are you here, Caroline?”

“To apologize.”

“Really, though.”

“Really.” Caroline takes a deep breath, tightens her shoulders up to her ears, and on the exhale finally drops her arms away from her chest. “You know who he is to me, and when I saw you and him… like that I just—I got really upset. And that just—happens when I get really mad, apparently, and it was really easy to not even try to stop.”

It’s not an excuse. It’s not. But Lily can’t help but soften a little because Caroline’s still just a kid, and though she’s been a ghost for almost half a year now, nobody saw her, heard her, knew she was there until now and—well, Lily imagines that can be overwhelming. And regardless of the circumstances of Caroline and Mackey’s relationship, it makes sense that she’d have strong feelings about him flirting—or not flirting, not flirting—with someone else. 

“Still,” Caroline continues, shifts her weight from foot to foot. “You’re right. I could’ve really hurt you. So I really am sorry.”

“Okay,” Lily breathes, “I appreciate that. Thank you.” They stand still, appraising each other until Lily purses her lips in something of a weak smile and Caroline ducks her head, dropping back a step towards Lily’s bedroom door, as if she means to turn and walk out of it. “Caroline,” she continues, and the girl pauses, looks back up—and Lily’s reminded one more time of how young she still is, and how Lily’s supposed to be helping her, but apology or not a desk flying at you takes more than a day to forgive. Plus, helping Caroline move on will take plenty longer. “Learn to control your temper, okay?” 

“Yeah,” she agrees, takes another deep breath and a matching step back, then nods. “I’m gonna. And your friend said he’d help, so. I’ll see you around.” 

She’s gone before she reaches the door, and it takes Lily a minute to figure exactly who her friend is meant to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a really short chapter but it had been approximately one million years since I last updated, so honestly I'm glad to have anything to put up at all. I would've waited to write more, but figured might as well just go for it.


	10. Chapter Nine

There’s no sign of either of them for the next few days, Caroline or James, and Remus still steadfastly avoids eye contact when they pass in the dorm. Peter waves once from across the quad, a brief head nod and a raise of one hand, but when she crosses paths with Sirius on the way to class, he looks right over her as if he’s never seen her in his life. 

And that’s alright. For that week or so, things were too loud, too crazy, too hard to deal with—so Lily’s grateful for the break. Grateful she doesn’t have to worry about textbooks flying at her head or furniture speeding around the room or some ghost and his friend spitting words that sound just this side of threats. 

Instead, she can go back to focusing on her grades, which she needs to. After last year’s less-than-rousing performance, Dean McGonagall had let her know in no uncertain terms that she’d have to step it up in order to keep her scholarship, forget the fact that if she was on academic probation two semesters in a row she might face a semester-long suspension or even expulsion. 

So she goes to class, even Mackey’s, and keeps her head down, studying in her spare time and taking a break from all ghostly related matters. Sure, she spots one here or there—including that junior’s dad who’s been following her around since his heart attack last year, but he’s just worried about her staying on track for graduation and there’s not much Lily can do about that for another year or so—but for the most part there’s a bit of a hiatus on haunting. 

For the first time, she actually passes a micro exam. With a B-, no less, which is a full letter-grade higher than the “just scraping by” she’d been desperately hoping for. Sure, it’s the second time she’s taken this particular exam—it’s nearly identical to the one from last year, even if the specific details of the questions have been tweaked—but seeing how profoundly terrible she’d done then it was still something to be proud of. 

She even lets Marlene drag her out when Friday rolls back around, heading out to Marlene’s sorority sister’s dorm room to pregame, and it’s going well until Marlene’s friend says, “Ready to head out? I hear Omega Rho’s throwing their first big party of the year and I want to get there before it fills up.”

It’s not that Lily has a problem with frat parties—well, she does, since they tend to be way too crowded and hot with all of the kids squeezed into the too-small houses—as much as it is the specific party. Because Omega Rho is the fraternity that James Potter and his friends are (were?) part of—meaning it’s home to one boy who’d probably rather not be associated with her in public, two boys actively pretending she doesn’t exist, and, best of all, one fairly unfriendly ghost. 

But one of the guys—Aaron or Adam or something—speaks up before she can gather the nerve to say anything, and Lily can feel that breath caught in her chest loosen into a relieved sigh. 

“Doesn’t Omega Rho, like, suck now?” 

“Don’t you suck now?” spits back one of the other guys as the girl whose room it is, Amy, rolls her eyes. 

“They don’t suck, the seniors just checked out a little earlier than usual,” Amy explains, pouring out one last round of shots. “But I know the guy who’s president now and he says it’s going to be a huge blowout.”

Huge blowout is what most of the campus has come to expect from Omega Rho. Their parties are some of the biggest around, and as the most popular frat on campus, they typically have access to the best student DJs, bartenders, whatever they need. Only the seniors are typically in charge of running things, and considering what happened to James Potter over the summer, this year’s seniors are notably less enthusiastic than those in year’s past. 

It doesn’t help that James’s end of the year party this past May had psyched everyone up for the traditional orientation kickoff Omega Rho threw, but when August rolled back around Sirius was avoiding pretty much everyone, Remus had moved out of the house and into his RA dorm, and Peter… Well, Peter had been less of the mastermind and more of the guy who always seemed to have a joint on hand. Or at least that’s what Lily had heard. 

They weren’t the only seniors, but they’d been the de facto leaders of their pledge class, and no one else seemed to have really stepped up in their place. Until now, at least. 

“So what’s the theme then?”

That was the other thing Omega Rho was known for. Whether they were fun or kitschy or sexy or sloppy, the ORhos always had a theme going that they strictly adhered to in costumes, decoration, music, drinks—pretty much everything. 

“Some kind of geek chic thing, I didn’t get the full details,” Amy supplies, shrugging. “They’re not being super strict about it this time since it’s sort of last minute.”

Still, the strictness is a good excuse, the best Lily has, and she gloms onto it immediately. 

“Um, I don’t know if I’m exactly dressed for geek chic.” She goes for a breezy tone, but chances are it lands closer to distressed than she’d like.

Amy glances over, appraising Lily’s romper, cardigan, and fishtail braid. “I dunno—I think that would probably work fine. Better if you had fake glasses or something, but whatever.”

“Fake glasses!” Because that seems like the answer, suddenly. “I’ve got some back in my dorm that I can go grab. And then I can change anyway.” Or, more likely, ditch the group and go to some other party (or just stay in entirely). 

It’s the perfect plan until Marlene says, “Actually, I’ll go with you. I have this pair of suspenders I’ve been holding onto since high school.” And then Lily’s trapped. 

Before she knows it, she’s walking up to the Omega Rho house with Marlene and Amy and Aaron (as it turns out), plus the two other guys and the girl they’d pregamed with, 3D glasses with the lenses punched out sliding down the bridge of her nose. 

She’s dressed to theme in a black pencil skirt, sleeveless collared blouse and converse, crossbody purse dangling from one shoulder, but still it feels like they might kick her out the moment she steps inside. She wouldn’t be incredibly surprised if Sirius already plastered the house with flyers that say “Lily Evans, avoid at all costs, do not engage.”

But Amy walks in, then the three boys, then Amy’s other friend, and finally Marlene hooks her arm through Lily’s and nobody bars the doorway as they cross the threshold. So that’s something. 

They get a drink in the kitchen and hit the dance floor, then head back for a second cup and a third and soon Lily’s excusing herself to find the bathroom, wobbling her way up the narrow stairs of the house with a fourth cup in hand, charging past the second floor landing and up to the third when she sees the line. Up here, it’s empty except for what might be a couple tucked away in one of the bedrooms, but she doesn’t stop to investigate until after she’s done, only then taking stock of the framed composite photos on the wall. 

Smack dab in the middle of the photo is James, his picture slightly larger than the rest in the executive board line-up, but Remus is right to his side as Treasurer and Sirius is down at the end of the line as Social Chair. Of its own accord, her hand raises to reach out and touch the glass protecting the picture. 

“What are you doing?”

She jerks back, stumbles away before her fingerprints can so much as leave a smudge on the frame, nearly falls over as she spins to see who’s speaking, but James reaches out and catches an elbow before she manages to topple over entirely or spill her still-full drink all down her front. Suddenly, those first three drinks are feeling stronger than they seemed, and he tilts sideways for a second before fixing back into place in her vision. 

“Um—” she starts, cut off by his, “God, this isn’t part of your stupid mediating thing, is it?”

“Well—” she tries again, interrupted by his, “Can you just lay off tonight, please?”

Only then does she nod, hiccup, and finally he frowns as he takes her in—fake glasses, unravelling braid, red cup and all. 

“Are you drunk?”

In lieu of an answer, she scrunches up her nose at him, shoulders tightening and raising higher towards her ears in some amalgamation of a shrug that she refuses to accept as an admission of anything. 

“What are you doing here?”

This one is easier to answer, at least. 

“My friend Marlene dragged me out. Her friend Amy is friends with your new president or something,” Lily explains. 

“Jared?”

“I don’t know.”

“So no mediating tonight?”

“Um, not unless you, like, need anything?” She cringes even as she says it, but can’t help herself from continuing, “I mean, did you figure out why you’re still here yet? Or whatever? ‘Cause otherwise I’m”—she hiccups again—“still on the case.”

He’s giving her that funny look again, brow wrinkling, but someone’s coming up the stairs, so instead of whatever he was going to say, he nods towards one of the closed doors and asks, “Do you want to get some air? So you don’t seem like you’re wasted and talking to yourself and need the campus EMTs to come cart you off?”

She’d glare, but he’s right. Drunk, holding another full cup, on the out-of-bounds third floor and having a conversation with seemingly no one—well, she couldn’t exactly blame someone for thinking she was just this side of alcohol poisoning. 

So she shrugs again, then nods, and he leads her to the door. Beyond it is a bedroom, empty save for the bare, stock furniture that likely came already furnished, and then beyond the bedroom a window that leads out onto the roof. He climbs out first, then steadies her as she follows, sloshing only a little punch over the side of the cup as they sit down. 

“So—” she starts at the same time he blurts, “I’m really sorry.”

“What?”

“For losing control. Twice,” he clarifies, staring off into the neighborhood and rifling a hand through his hair, and she shifts to fully face him instead of just sitting side-by-side. “I shouldn’t have gotten so pissed—and I get why you think ghosts can’t just be hanging around now, or whatever. Especially after talking to Caroline and hearing about that whole earthquake thing.”

“Um,” she manages, but doesn’t get very far before he’s continuing. 

“I’m gonna be a lot more careful. And Caroline is, too. So I get it, okay?”

He’s still not quite looking at her, but it’s clear this is something he’s rehearsed or at least thought through, and she squirms in her seat when he finally turns to actually face her, eyes blazing behind his glasses. 

“So. Are we cool? Can we call a truce? You’re not going to try to exorcise me or anything?”

“We’re cool,” she squeaks. “And, you know, just so you know, I only ever exorcise, like, really dangerous ghosts.”

“What about Caroline?”

“Um, I’m not sure yet. I don’t think she’s trying to be dangerous, exactly, but she really freaked out at me last time.”

“I’m going to work with her on that. Just—be careful with that guy, okay? She hasn’t given me the whole story, but it seems like bad news.”

The bad news is that Caroline couldn’t control herself with Mackey when she was alive and still can’t now that she’s dead, but Lily elects to keep that to herself. Caroline apologized and Lily’ll give her one final shot, but after that… Lily hopes they don’t get that far. 

But she just nods, and then takes a long sip of her drink before holding the cup out to James. 

“Is that a joke?” he asks, jutting his chin out at the offering before looking back up at her. 

“Um, no?” She takes another sip, then holds it back out. “I mean, it’s not exactly an artisan cocktail but—”

“I’m a ghost,” he scoffs, as if she needs any reminding, and then she gets it. 

“Wait, you know that you can still drink and eat and stuff if you want, right?”

He still looks like he doesn’t believe it—and like he’s a little pissed that she’d even joke about it, eyebrows furrowed and mouth twisted with scorn. “Are you fucking with me?” 

“No!” She shoves the cup towards him, a little more sloshing over the side. “Ghosts can eat and drink! I mean, they don’t need to, obviously, and it’s harder to get drunk or full or whatever, but they can if they want. Didn’t you ever read about people like leaving offerings and stuff at graves for their ancestors? Or people who leave little shots and candies at Marie Laveau’s tomb in New Orleans?”

“I mean, yeah, sure,” he admits slowly, eying the cup like something might hop out of it unexpectedly. “But I just figured that was superstitious bullshit or whatever.”

“And you, a ghost, are totally unrelated to superstitious bullshit?” 

She grins, shakes the cup a little, and finally he takes it. His first sip is hesitant, as if testing the waters, like maybe he expects that it’ll puddle underneath him on the roof—and it could, if he wanted it to—and then, apparently satisfied, he downs the rest. 

“Holy shit,” he says, and then leans back on his elbows on the roof tiles. “Why didn’t I know about this like two months ago.”

“Sirius not up to date on his lore?” she suggests, leaning back to mimick his pose. 

“Sirius doesn’t know shit,” he answers, but despite his answering grin Lily can see that flicker of something in his eyes. She makes a mental note to ask about it later, but with him smiling at her, with things going okay, she doesn’t want to push it now. 

What she does do is push herself back up into a sitting position and ask, “Want another? I can go get some from downstairs.”

“Nah, let me,” he says and disappears, shimmering back into place a few moments later with two more full cups. 

She reaches out to take one when he offers, and studies him for a second. “You should be more careful, you know,” she says between sips. “People tend to freak out when two cups mysteriously fill themselves and then wink out of existence or whatever.” 

“Please, people here are too drunk to notice—or for anyone else to believe them, at least.” 

Her phone vibrates in her bag resting against her hip, and she slips it out to check the message preview on the screen—“Where are you?” from Marlene—but silences it and slides it back into her purse instead of answering. 

“So. Some party, huh?” she asks, holding up her cup in some sort of half-hearted toast before taking another drink. 

“Are you kidding? This party sucks.”

“But the punch is good! And everyone was dancing and stuff downstairs!” And two people even privately retired to a bedroom upstairs, she thinks, but doesn’t say. 

“Yeah, but Office Hoes and CEOs? That’s the best they could do for a theme?”

If Lily weren’t so affronted, she’d burst out laughing. “Wait, that’s the theme? You’re telling me I’m an office hoe right now?”

He glances over, takes in her outfit again, and then shakes his head, grinning. “Your skirt’s practically to your knees; you’re definitely the CEO.”

And then she does laugh, reaching out to shove his shoulder, and he winks. 

“Why, what are you dressed for?”

“Marlene’s friend said it was geek-chic. I mean, it’s no get lit—”

“Get Lit-erary!” he corrects, and she laughs again. “And that was genius, by the way—not even taking into account the fact that it was my idea. Were you there?”

She nods, thinking of the end of the year party from the year before. Classes were over, there was half a week until finals, and Marlene hadn’t taken no for an answer after finishing her final painting. She doesn’t remember seeing James there, only Sirius (dressed, of course, as Dorian Grey-Goose), but he must’ve been considering it was his party. 

“Oh, I went all out,” she teases. 

“Oh yeah? And what were you?”

“Sophie, naturally, and I brought my BFG.”

“Big friendly giant?”

“Big flask of gin.”

That gets a laugh out of him, and she beams at the sound of it. 

“And what were you, Catcher in the Rye Whiskey or something?”

“Please, my costume was way better than that,” he brags. “We did Goodnight Moonshine.”

“You were the moon?”

“Remus was the moon,” he corrects, smirking. “We doused him in body glitter and everything. I was the little bunny in PJs.”

“Oh, of course,” she laughs. “I don’t know how I didn’t guess that. And Peter?”

“Hops on Pop,” he explains, then grimaces. “He kept mixing beer with mountain dew all night.” He takes another long drink, then looks down at his empty cup and holds it out to her. “Speaking of—want one?”

“A beer and mountain dew?”

“Why, you like the sound of that?” he asks, one eyebrow up, then disappears.

They go through two or three more cups and it’s not long before Lily is loose and slurring her words, laid all the way back on the roof with her converse kicked off beside her and ther toes wiggling in the night air and her eyes on the stars. 

It’s quiet now—neither of them has said anything in a few minutes, and whatever stragglers are left downstairs have long since turned the music off. Lily’s eyes are just starting to droop closed when he speaks up. 

“I’m glad we have a truce,” he says quietly, and his voice is steadier than hers would be. Despite the factors working against him—not pre-gaming, having a higher tolerance, being a ghost—he’s almost as drunk as she is, and maybe that has something to do with not drinking since before he died, or maybe he’s just been sneaking away to refill his cup when she hasn’t noticed. 

“Because I told you about drinking?” Somehow the words come out clear enough, despite how heavy her tongue is in her mouth and the way a yawn is catching at the back of her throat. 

“Well, yeah. That too. But also because you know I’m here. Sirius is my best friend, but…” He falls silent for a minute, and she looks over, peeking an eye open, in time to see his shrug. “It kind of sucks only having one person to talk to.”

She rolls over onto her side to look at him, really look at him, then reaches out to pinch his arm until her turns to look back at her. 

“You know that’s all I meant, right?”

“When?”

“In my room,” she explains, and it takes more work than she expects to make sure her words come out strong instead of sloppy. “I didn’t mean—obviously no one likes being dead. Just… for other people they don’t really have any– anyone that can see them but me.” 

He turns his head back to look at the stars, and her fingers curl in the sleeve of his shirt in an effort to keep his attention. 

“Most people wan– want to move on to whatever’s next, because it’s better than just being here by yourself forever. But I get that with Sirius it’s diff’rent.” He sighs, a deep, heavy sound, but she keeps going. “‘N I’m not gonna make you move on before you’re ready. But I’m gonna find out what’s keeping you– keeping you here. One day. Okay?”

He sets his jaw, nods, then rolls over onto his hands and knees and climbs back through the window they came out of. “All right, Red,” he says, and sticks a hand back out to pull her in after him. “Let’s walk you home.”


	11. Chapter Ten

She wakes up late the next morning, still dressed in her shirt from the night before with her hair half-twisted into what was once a braid, to seven texts and four missed calls from Marlene. There’s a note on the outside of her bedroom door, too (“Are you alive? Text me please!”), but Marlene herself is already gone. 

Groaning, she gets up to check the Keurig (one of many fancy appliances Marlene’s parents had gotten them for their dorm room, as if they needed a coffee maker, microwave, fancy blender, and last year’s mini-fridge despite the fact that their double came with a full-size), but they’re out of the mocha K-cups Lily likes best, and she shuffles over to the larger fridge to see what’s inside. 

It’s then that he shimmers in, but she doesn’t notice until he says, “Coffee?” and then she shrieks. 

“Jesus, you can’t do that!”

“Bring you coffee?” he challenges with a smirk, dropping into one of the kitchen table chairs. She hides herself—and her purple boyshort undies—behind the open refrigerator door. 

“Pop in without knocking! Or flashing some lights or whatever, I don’t know.”

“It’s the living room,” he says, and sets one cup down on the table while drinking from another. “It’s not like you’re naked or anything.”

She blushes. 

“Are you naked?”

“Well, I’m not fully-clothed!”

He squints at her for a second, as if he can suddenly see through the refrigerator door to her bare legs and Aerie brand undies, and then, a little pink at the ears but lopsided smile in place, asks, “Do you want me to step out for a minute?”

“Just—close your eyes. And don’t peek!”

“Red, if I wanted to see naked girls, I’d go haunt a Victoria’s Secret fitting room, not your dorm,” he says, but shuts his eyes obediently. She watches him for a careful moment to make sure he’s really listening, slowly eases the refrigerator door shut, and then sprints across the room, past him, and into her bedroom. 

When she comes out, she’s got jean shorts on and she’s traded last night’s blouse for a slouchy tee. Eyes still closed, he turns to face her at the sound of her door shutting behind her. 

“Are you decent now?” he asks, slowly peeking one eye open and then the other. 

“I’m decent.”

“Good,” he says, and holds the coffee cup from the table out to her. 

“Where did you get these, anyway?” she asks, taking the cup from him and plopping down into the second chair. After all, it’s not like he can just walk up to the university’s café and order a latte. And trying to make one himself behind the counter seems like more trouble than it’s worth.

“Stole them from some freshman’s table when he went to get napkins.”

Her nose wrinkles up, the cup held just a little more delicately than before. “Wait, so someone drank from these?” 

“Of course not,” he says, and somehow has the gall to sound offended. “He spilled the third drink bringing them back to his spot and I swiped these two when he turned his back. I think he was meeting people for a group project.”

“Poor kid,” Lily says. Then, “You shouldn’t steal,” but she takes a sip anyway. It’s good—something fancier than she usually has the pocket change for at Starbucks—and though ghosts don’t exactly get hungover (or even particularly tired without expending a huge amount of psychic energy), he hasn’t had a warm drink since before he died, so it’s hard to feel too bad about it all. 

He just rolls his eyes, takes another drink and lets out an exaggerated “mmmmm.” “Tastes better on someone else’s dime,” he teases, stretching out a leg under the table to kick her chair back an inch. 

Lily winces at the sound of the wood scraping against the floor, but the coffee or latte or whatever it is is too good to be annoyed for long. 

“So, what other secrets do you know?” James says after a minute, breaking the silence and looking up at her over his glasses in what she assumes is a carefully controlled attempt at casual. 

“About ghosts?”

“Sure,” he says, again just a shade too breezy. 

“Well,” she says thoughtfully, and leans back in her chair, bracing her knees against the side of the table. “You’ve already figured out the whole moving stuff around and popping in and out thing, so those are the basics. And you know about eating and drinking now, too. Affecting people is a lot harder than objects, but if you’re a strong enough ghost you can sort of push or touch people. Mediators, obviously, you can always touch. You can basically interact with us the same way we can interact with anyone else. But of course other people pretty much just walk right through you if you’re in the way.”

He nods, doesn’t say anything else, so she keeps going.

“Animals can be weird, like in stories, but it also really depends on the animal and its personality and if you already knew it. Again, if you’re a strong enough ghost, you can go visit all over, I think. Most people don’t really leave where they lived and died, so I’ve never really tested it, but there’s some junior girl and her dad is a ghost who follows her to class and stuff and I’m pretty sure they’re from the East Coast. So that’s pretty far.”

“How did you learn all this?” Any fake-airiness is gone, now, what sounds like a hint of wonder sneaking into his voice instead.

“My best friend from home is a mediator,” she shares with a shrug, and makes a mental note to call Sev later. “And his grandpa’s one, too, so he taught him and Sev taught me, basically.” She watches him carefully, then asks in a purposefully balanced tone, “Sirius really doesn’t know about any of this?”

“Like I said, he doesn’t know shit,” James answers, but he doesn’t seem to fully realize how sad that is. “I don’t think there’s really anyone else in his family like that.”

Even though that’s the case for Lily, too, she can’t help but wonder how the burden fell to Sirius. Looking at Sev and his grandpa, there’s clearly some kind of genetic component—and, sure, no one else in her family saw ghosts, but at least Sev had found her when they were younger, had realized she was like him and shared every shred of info he’d been given and lesson he’d learned. 

“So does everyone become a ghost?”

“No,” she says, fingers curling too tightly around her coffee cup. “Only if you’ve got something holding you back. My dad didn’t, which I guess is a good thing.” She can feel his gaze on her then, but focuses on picking at the plastic lid, tearing off tiny pieces. “Good that he felt happy enough and okay enough with everything to move on.” 

The air is heavy between them, but then he asks, “Ever mediated anyone famous?” and she can’t help but laugh. He grins back, his smile raising more in the left corner than the right. 

“Oh, of course,” she jokes back. “You should’ve seen the baggage Elvis left behind on this mortal plane.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Really wild stuff.”

Out in the hallway, a door slams shut—and it doesn’t mean anything, but for one split second Lily’s afraid that Marlene’s about to walk through their own door. Lily hasn’t texted her yet as requested in the note, and she has no idea where Marlene’s gone, let alone when she’ll be back, but she imagines that if it were any time in the next few minutes she might have a lot of questions—about where Lily disappeared to last night, about why she stopped answering her phone, about who the second coffee cup belongs to and why they both say “Matthew.”

Inviting James into her bedroom seems strangely intimate, though, even or maybe especially considering the previous night. He’s been inside of it before—twice in fact—but asking him in now after they’re already hanging out in her living room seems… different. Luckily, it’s not the only option. 

“Do you want to go for a walk or something? Maybe grab a bite to eat?”

“Burgers,” James groans automatically, head tipping back, eyes rolling towards the ceiling. “God, I’d kill for a burger.”

“Burgers it is. Just let me grab my jacket.”

But it’s not her San Antonio Spurs hoodie that catches his attention, his eyes practically bulging out of his head as he jumps to his feet, pointing a finger accusingly. 

“Is that a fucking Bluetooth?”

She’s got it hooked around her ear already, and defensively she raises a hand to cover it, flushing a darker red. 

“What are you, a mid-aughts business man? A 2005 minivan driving mom?”

“Stop, I know it’s embarrassing, but it’s better to look like I’m a total douche than that I’m wandering around talking to myself.”

“You can’t wear headphones like a normal human being?”

“I like the over-ear kind! If I wear them I can’t hear you!”

He’s still staring, shaking his head, letting out a deep, world-weary sigh. “I can’t believe I’m hanging out with someone who still owns a Bluetooth. What if someone sees me with you?”

“The whole point of the Bluetooth is that they can’t see you!”

“Still,” he scoffs, and finally she glares, reaching out and shoving him towards the door.

She follows him out, and together they walk over to the Student Union and Lily orders two standard burger combos to go despite James’s complaints. The three-patty monstrosity he’d tried to get her to buy had been a full two dollars more, and seeing as she’s paying (and he doesn’t really need to eat) she’d elected to save her dining dollars. 

Once they find a relatively secluded spot to sit outside—yes, she has the Bluetooth, but either way it’s probably best that no one sees a burger slowly disappearing in mid-air—they dig in, James making monstrous noises as Lily grimaces and dips a fry into ketchup. 

“So are table manners tied to the physical form?” 

“Thought you were the expert,” James says with a smirk, but he keeps eye contact as he deliberately lifts both pinkies off his grip on the burger and into the air. 

“You know,” she says, picking up her own burger and taking a bite, “I can’t say I’ve actually shared too many meals with ghosts. They usually don’t stick around long enough for a dinner party.”

“Well, this must be a real treat for you, then.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

“So, mediating… not really much of a social thing for you?” he asks between bites.

She shrugs, takes a sip of soda. “Back home in Austin, Sev and I do kind of a team-effort mediating thing. But like I mentioned, the actual ghosts don’t really... hang out so much.”

“Maybe they just don’t like you.” He emphasizes the “you” by pointing at her with a ketchup-dipped fry, and she glares, then gives in and rolls her eyes. 

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe they don’t like what’s-his-name. Sev?”

Despite herself, she can’t help a smile snaking its way across her mouth. “That’s a lot more likely.” 

After all, Sev does lack a certain sensitivity when it comes to handling ghost problems, and it’s escalated a situation more than once. 

“Well, that’s good,” James says, finishing up his fries and reaching to steal a few of hers. “Keep it strictly professional.”

She thinks of the ghosts she’s met in the past, about how many she’s hit—how many have hit her—and all the ones Sev had taken short cuts on and exorcised. 

“I don’t know that professional is the word I’d use.”

“So,” he says again once both of their food is gone. There’s something heavy in his tone that she can’t quite identify, and she thinks maybe he’s going to ask more about the ghosts she’s dealt with before, but it’s not that at all. “Sirius—people think he’s just wandering around talking to himself?”

He’s not looking at her—his gaze is focused on his hands as he balls up their trash, collecting everything in the paper bag the Student Union had given her and compressing it between his palms into a dense clump of wrappings. She takes her time finding an answer. 

“People grieve in different ways,” she says finally, softly. “He just lost his best friend. No one blames him.”

“He didn’t lose me,” he counters, sharp. She meets his gaze, his hands still hard at work squeezing their trash into pulp. “I’m still right here.”

“You died.”

“I know.” Terse as it is, it comes out garbled as he turns away, standing up and stalking towards a trash can at least fifty feet away. He chucks the waste, then turns back without walking any closer. “But I’m not gone.” Except, suddenly, he is, shimmering away and leaving her alone in the courtyard. 

It’s Mary that sets her back on the right track the following Monday. There’s nothing Lily can do to help James for now, but Caroline’s mystery seems like it should be a lot easier to solve. Lily knows what happened to her, after all—how and where she died, why. 

The exact answer of why she’s still here is a little more elusive, sure, but Lily’s got a feeling the answer lies with Mackey. If Caroline knew, after all, she would’ve lead with that. And besides, Caroline’s been off the grid for over a week, ever since she apologized for the mess in the office. So focusing on Mackey is just the logical thing to do, really. 

It’s been almost three weeks since Lily first asked Mary for help finding out where Mackey is from, and Mary’s only found a way to try and subtly ask about it every single French class they’ve had since. Today’s no exception, and Mary turns up right on cue, walking into their shared French class while chatting with Katie Bannon. Only it’s Katie talking about Mackey when they walk in, the two of them sliding into the empty seats on Lily’s right as they always do. 

She’s saying something about a paper she wrote for his class and not minding having to visit his office hours when Mary pops in with, “Careful, Katie, that’s Lily’s boyfriend.” Mary’s looking over with a wicked smile, and Katie’s got an eyebrow raised as Lily’s practiced answers slips out as it always does. 

“He’s not my boyfriend,” she rebuffs, but without meaning to she’s thinking of he way his hand reached for hers across his desk.

“You know you’re blushing, right?”

“I am not!” but Mary’s right, Lily can feel the temperature rising in her her cheeks, at the back of her neck. Usually she’s able to shake off Mary’s teasing, but something about having Katie as a witness makes it feel different. 

Katie’s nice, friendly, a friend of a friend if not outright a class friend, but Lily doesn’t know her the way she knows Mary, doesn’t know what she can trust her with or how she’ll take it. 

“Office hours romance?” Katie asks. Mary butts in before she has a chance to deny it. 

“You know she was with him when there was that earthquake right under Linnear Hall? He held her in the doorway until it passed.”

“He didn’t hold me—”

“Are you kidding?” Katie interrupts. “What was it like? God, he’s hot.”

“I bet he has secretly really strong arms,” Mary chimes in, grinning. “He looks all lean in those sweaters but I bet underneath them he’s straight up beefy.”

“You guys—”

“You’d tell us if you’d screwed him, right?” Katie asks, and Lily’s flush spreads further down her chest. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Lily hisses, turning to face forward as their TA walks into the room.

“Just tell us if you’ve kissed him!” Mary whispers, not ready to be put off, but Lily’s saved from even shooting a look in the other girls’ direction when the TA starts talking, drawing Mary and Katie’s reluctant attention back to the front of the room.

They don’t bring it up again when class is over. Katie’s got another class and Mary’s got something for the paper, but Lily can’t stop thinking about it over lunch. 

She’s still thinking about it the next day in seminar, remembering how he’d put his arm around her shoulders in the doorway, imagining his muscles under his sweater as he writes important points on the dry-erase board, so much so that she nearly jumps when class ends and he says, “Miss Evans, would you stay a moment?”

It’s the opportunity she would’ve been waiting for if she hadn’t let herself get so distracted by Mary and Katie’s comments, but she takes her time gathering up her things as the rest of the students filter out of the classroom. Caroline is still nowhere to be found, so it’s just the two of them as she approaches the front of the room. 

“Are you feeling on track to start your paper after the days you missed?”

“Yeah, I think so,” she answers, shifting her books from one arm to another. 

“Seems like you’ve got a solid grasp on the material from your response papers, but you did miss some good group discussions. Have you worked out an outline yet?”

The truth is, she’s almost completely forgotten they have a paper coming up. Yes, he mentioned it in his office two weeks ago, and yes it’s been on the syllabus since the semester started, but between trying to stay on top of all of her current assignments and handle the ghosts, she’s hardly gotten a jump on things that aren’t even due for another week. But she lies. 

“Yeah, I’ve got a few notes already.”

“Great.” He smiles, and she can feel her cheeks heating up again. “Well, when you have something closer to a rough draft, let me know and we’ll sit down and go over it together.”

She focuses all her effort into getting herself back under control even as she smiles back, tightening her grasp on her books. 

“Sounds great, thank you.”

There’s a moment there, her watching him and him watching her, and she’s not sure how to break it, if she wants to, but before she can think about taking a step back, he asks, “Are you doing alright with everything?”

“What do you mean?”

“Feeling okay? Did you work things out with that guy?”

Now she really does blush, shrugging and tucking a loose lock of hair behind one ear. “Yeah, kinda. He was just… some guy. No one important.”

“Well, I’m glad to hear you’re doing better,” he says, and reaches for his laptop bag to sling over a shoulder. “I hope you know you can always talk to me if you need anything,” he says, and she nods as he starts to make his way over to the door. “Email me to set up a time to talk about that paper, okay?”

“Sure, of course,” she says, nods again, and he waves as he slips out into the hall.


End file.
